“Look at you now,” she went on ruthlessly. “How long have you been home?”
“Three months, more or less,” he informed her meekly.
“And you’re up to your eyes in this affair of John Leslie’s already. And, as soon as that’s over, you’ll find some one else in trouble.”
“It’s a depressing program for a man who has come home to enjoy a well-earned rest,” he protested.
“It’s the fate of all unattached people,” she assured him briskly. “Don’t you know that the spinster and the bachelor are at the mercy of their friends? I speak from personal experience.”
“And you enjoy every moment of it!” put in Fayre shrewdly.
It was Miss Allen’s turn to blush.
“Well, it keeps me busy and it may save me from becoming a selfish, cantankerous old woman.”
She drew the dispatch-box to her and unlocked it.
“The private letters, such as they are, are at the bottom,” she said, removing several bundles that were obviously bills and receipts. “Do any of these names suggest anything to you?”